Forbidden Things
by stormsandsins
Summary: Coming back to his last dwelling place was one mistake in a series of pestilent ones. I didn't even deserve to come past the entry gate. It should have burned me to the ground. Written for the "Green Hair of Graves" challenge on livejournal RIP darkones


**Forbidden Things**

By Caducee (stormsandsins)

There are places you never mean to walk again, people you desperately want to forget. Smells, too. And sounds. They're forbidden things, things your subconscious often haunts you with because you're fighting the urges or blotting them out of your brain in hopes that you've banished them for good but… the thing about it all is that, no matter how much you try to hide those thoughts in the farthest, deepest corners of your mind, it's still _there_, lying right under the many layers of rubbish you managed to stack on top of it.

How it managed to come full out and bite me smack in the arse this time, I couldn't tell. I could tell now, though, that it had been a mistake to give in to the temptation too easily and without a fight. It just wasn't characteristic of me, and I knew it all too well. Coming back to his last dwelling place was one mistake in a series of pestilent ones. I didn't even deserve to come past the entry gate. It should have burned me to the ground. But then, staying confined between four foetid walls was just something I couldn't bear anymore than myself.

The myriad ghostly shadows staring, scolding, surrounding me and seeming to curse me were a deeper stab into the already swollen and gashed walls of my little grey heart. I could feel their anger, their thirst for vengeance, their shame of the blood spilt. I could only agree. More and more I remembered the events, the dates, the rain, the bloodshed, like moving pictures in my head. I couldn't blame myself for their deaths in particular, but him…

The grass crushed and squealed a little under the toe-ends of my boots, draining the rain from the thousands of tiny spears of green. Moss scents wafted to my lips and I thought I tasted where I knew these men - and he - had died like heroes.

I approached, and there she was, kneeling in front of his gravestone. I couldn't see her face, but the slight quivering in her shoulders was a give-away. The air was just so still - dark, yes, it was past afternoon by now and slightly chilly, but so still after the rain. I wanted a sound, only one, I wanted to hear her cry. Perhaps it was sick of me to wish for it, but I was just… Merlin, I couldn't bear the sight and not be able to hear her sobs - or perhaps she _was_ crying and I just couldn't hear it.

I would remember his last words, garbled in his mouth. I had been so desperate myself - fuck, I hadn't _wanted_ this. But the mud in his hair and his clothes torn and ripped and dirty under my calluses as I dragged him somewhere safe had been my downfall. I hated myself: I hated my betrayal, I hated my original plan. I hated me.

From the corner of my eye Hermione raised her small hand to her lips and then pressed the pads of her fingers onto the cold, wet stone. I imagined she was dreaming of kissing him, or running her hands across his amber freckles. Something better than now. She'd been through the rain today; her hair was matted to her scalp, frizzes under control for the time being. I was mesmerised by the image of her; even from the back she exuded complete and utter love to him, a beautiful fiery soul I'd continually hated to stain with the likes of me.

Hermione stood slowly and I crawled further, deeper into the shadows, making my presence hidden to the world and to her. She seemed to hesitate a moment, spoke out loud to the one love the War had stolen from her. Partly because of me.

From her lips she drew a forced "I love you" through her tears. I knew it was hard to stay in love - when you can't ever help it - when you were faced with the fact that your fiancé won't ever be able to speak again every waking moment. My dreams were filled with deaths and demons; hers were likely haunted with his face, unable to speak. But she kept on coming back every other day; I could tell by the amount of lily whites on and around his grave.

He told me he wanted to go home before dying in my arms. He clutched the open gash on his thigh, agonised as he ground out between his teeth, and I knelt there unable to speak, knowing that I'd brought it all upon him. He wanted his mum and Hermione. _"Mummy! Mummy, mummy, please, I want to go home. Hermione… Home… home… Love… Home… Hermione."_

She stalked toward me, but then I realised she was only heading toward the front gate. Why would she have wanted to come to me in the first place? I plastered myself farther against the tall brick wall. She walked on by, and then I heard her tired voice, as she reached the gate: "Get out of here, Pansy. I think you've done quite enough."

I couldn't possibly sink into the wall, but I welcomed the pain with both arms wide open. Stole one last longing look at the rows of tombstones and saw my vision become blurred as the tears stung my eyes, and I ran, and I ran.


End file.
